


Moonstone Mishap

by WinsomeEarl



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, POV Second Person, misuse of tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinsomeEarl/pseuds/WinsomeEarl
Summary: Saboo finds himself stuck in a project with a very much in-heat alien co-worker. Hijinks and tentacles ensue.
Relationships: Naboo the Enigma/Saboo, Tony Harrison/Saboo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Moonstone Mishap

It had started out like any other mission from the Board. You and Tony had been sent out to get a Moonstone from a wood nymph named Daphne who lived in the Foloi forest since apparently a regular old moonstone won't do for the spell Dennis intends on casting. Kirk had lent you one of his carpets, and the modified controls are impossible to work with. Needless to say, turning this incident into a perfect storm is a full Xooberon solar eclipse occuring presently, leaving Tony in heat and behaving like even more of a randy ballbag than he usually does, somehow.

This was doubly unfortunate, seeing as Tony has been acting uncharacteristically kind to you ever since you caught him having a peek up your swim shorts during that one beach outing several months ago. At best, he's just trying to get on your good side so that you won't tattle on him to Dennis, but all his attempts at pleasantries just come off as sycophantic and maudlin. Things like him complimenting you on your new gloves or bringing up some trivial point you had brought up in conversation months ago and then expecting a pat on the back for it. Or at least a pat on the head, you suppose, seeing as a back isn't really a part of Tony's anatomy.

It wasn't even worth getting riled up enough to bicker with him anymore, as lately he's been blindly agreeing with everything you say. You can't help but wonder if this is some ploy of his to make you admit that you preffered the old Tony, though you honestly doubt he's clever enough to come up with a scheme like that by himself. Maybe he had consulted Kirk about it. You would have to have a talk with the perpetually-spaced boy later, if he wasn't too out of it to do so.

It had really started out like any other mission. When the carpet touched down on the edge of Foloi forest, you had told Tony to stay back and to let you work on your own. Such a sentiment from you wasn't unusual, but Tony's reaction to the request was. As it happened, he agrees, and informs you that it'll be nice to take a load off, and that he's got an awful crick in his neck (if it can be called that) before proceeding to tell you more than you ever needed to know about him & Mrs. Harrison's sleeping arrangements, and how seeing as the missus isn't used to a colder climate, being an ex-Venezuelan super model, she always ends up hogging all the blankets in middle of the night, not to mention the fact that Mrs. Harrison is a larger woman than most, and she has to curl up quite a bit in order to fit into the much smaller bed, and even then she leaves very little room, and did I mention that we usually sleep on a four poster bed, as the missus only deserves the best, but we've been staying at her sister's house for the past two weeks since we're having some renovations done to the house, and the noise really-

You had walked away from him by that point. You wonder if he noticed. You figure you should have brought better boots for the occasion, as the ones you're wearing now are ones which you would prefer didn't get caked with mud. Your jacket catches on some brush and you wonder for a bit if having a perrenial yes-man by your side is really such a bad thing.

What happens next, however, is a bit of a blur.

All you can recall later is that one moment you're pushing through a thicket of bushes and accidentally walking in on a wood nymph bathing in a pond, and the next moment you're waking up leant against a tall rock, stark naked except for your small black pants, hat, slacks and boots nowhere to be found, with your belt tied around your mouth as a makeshift gag and your hands bound behind your back with what you can only assume was your shirt. It had been one of your favorite shirts, too. Now you're sure you'll never be able to get the wrinkles out of it. 

Something whizzes through the air by your left ear, missing it by only a couple centimetres and snapping you out of your reverie.

Looking up for the first time, you see that the rock you find yourself leaned against is in the center of a clearing, which is in turn surrounded by trees. There's something moving in one of the trees some 50 yards in front of you, and you squint to see it. 

Oh.

Right. 

It's the same nymph from before, except she's got her clothes on now. She holds the arch of a bow in one hand, and pinches the bow's string taut with an arrow in the other. The arrow glints in her hand, apparently made out of something other than just rock and wood. Moonstone? You wonder. Still drowsy, you watch as she draws back, aims once more, and then... 

A sharp pain suddenly erupts in your right shoulder. Now fully awake, you glance to your right, only to see the same arrow, moonstone and all, buried firmly in the meat of your upper arm. It seems to have been enchanted too, because of course it is, that's just your luck. In the trees in front of you, your assailant knocks another arrow. In spite of the leaden feeling curiously beginning to spread through your legs, you decide to run.

You don't know where you're going, and running with two hands tied behind your back is definitely not ideal, but you figure anything is better than sticking around to get poked full of holes by a vengeful woodland spirit. As you run, you consider whether or not you should stop and try to pull the arrow from your shoulder, seeing as it seems to be contributing to the deadening feeling that's slowly spreading through your limbs and turning your feet to lead. You hear an arrow find it's mark in a tree behind you and decide it's probably best to keep moving. 

Bloody Daphne.

Bloody magic arrows.

Bloody spinster wood nymph spending all her time in the forest turning rocks over in the moonlight and flying into a histrionic rage whenever a lost traveler accidentally gazes upon her while she's taking a bath in a public place.

Why is it that no one is ever there for you when it comes to the Crunch?

You can feel it in your hands now.

'What kind of curse had been in that thing?' you think as you begin to feel hardened knots forming in your chest.

You continue running.

What do you know about Daphne? It's something about laurels, isn't it? Queen of Laurels? She was known for handing out laurels to winners after the Olympics? She climbs into a laurel tree when she's scared, like a turtle going into it's shell?

Something in your mind snaps into place.

Turns!

She turns into a laurel tree!

It was a story you had heard from some ancient dickhead sun god at a party one time, who couldn't stop flipping his golden hair and blinding the whole room.

'One of my ex's wanted to get away from me so badly that she turned herself into laurel tree. She's living in Foloi Forest now with my sister. You wanna get outta here and grab a coffee?'

It hits you like a ton of bricks, the wooden feeling twisting into your gut.

You're going to turn into a tree in this godforsaken forest and some gold-star sapphist wood nymph is going to use you for target practice for all eternity!

The arrow in your shoulder catches on a low hanging branch, and you wince but keep running. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you dimly reckognize that one of your knees has stopped bending, and now instead remains frozen at an 150° angle. You are forced to slow down to a hobble, but the arrows that were once raining down on your back have seemed to cease. Your arms are two lead columns at your sides when you find yourself behind a large fallen tree and decide to come to a stop. Sitting down proves to be a struggle but you eventually manage to curl into what could almost be called a comfortable position leaned against the hollow log. Your frozen right leg lays bent on the ground beside you and your left knee is brought up to lean against your chest. You feel it slowly hardening into place, like ice in a mold. Your shoulder still aches.

As darkness begins to fall, you notice there's no moon. You begin to feel the sluggish hardening effect welling up behind your face, and you close your eyes. No need to be frozen in time while making an embarrassing expression, and you have no mirror at the moment to tell what you look like. 

Oh poor Saboo, you lament to yourself, a running monologue from all those in life who adored and dispised you.

No one knows whatever happened to him.

He never got a chance to not be surrounded by idiots.

He never got around to buying that gorgeous hat from the shop window he walked by everyday, which would have looked fantastic on him but he was always too busy working to go inside.

He never managed to get Naboo booted off the board of shaman, or executed, or both, which would no doubt put an end to the confusing jumble of hurt and jealousy that never ceased to bubble up inside him whenever the little stoner bothered to show up to a meeting.

He never got the chance to be offered the position of Head Shaman and then immediately and luxuriously turn it down without another thought.

He never...

As your body stiffens into place, now beyond your control, you somehow drift off into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

When you wake the next morning, its to the sound of your own name on an unwelcome tongue.

Tony.

Of course.

You had left him on the carpet and, in true Tony fashion, he opted to go with the least well thought out of multiple options and, rather than head off to find backup, had instead headed out on his own non-existant legs to try and find you himself.

The blind leading the deaf, dumb and blind.

You can feel pinpricks in your hands and feet as the ability to move gradually returns to them. Maybe it had something to do with the absent moon, or maybe Daphne had just been firing a warning shot, but either way you have a suspicion that the solidifying effects of the arrow are far from permanent. You had managed to open your eyes earlier, after all. After experimentally turning your head, you rule that the curse has worn off up to about your neck. Your belt is bound to be an unwearable mess by now, what with how long your teeth have been digging into the sides of it. Your mouth has begun to taste like leather. The arrow, though still buried in your arm, no longer hurts, perhaps somehow losing it's strength as a magical object the more time goes on.

You hear Tony calling out your name again, this time from not so far away.

You refuse to make a noise, from your mouth or otherwise. You would rather wait alone in the woods to thaw out completely and then walk home under the cover of darkness after having stolen clothes from a laundry line than give Tony the satisfaction of seeing you bested like this. Tony, however, doesn't care much for your dignity, and chooses that exact moment to poke his head around a tree just on the edge of your vision. He seems to be a bit high up, even from the corner of your eye.

'Saboo!', he crows, and, if you're to believe his tone, he seems quite pleased with himself to have found you. 'I've been looking for you all morning!'

The difference in height, you soon find out, can be accounted for by the fact that Tony has wisely chosen to search for you while not abandoning the safe haven of the flying carpet. At least this way he could cover more ground.

Distracted as he is after taking more than a second's glance at you, the carpet manages to careen into the trunk of a standing tree and Tony tumbles off with a familiar cry of 'Outrage!' before landing with a muffled crunch in the foliage below.

You hope for a second that he's managed to knock himself out, and that when he wakes up he'll have no memeory of the event. But the Fates, as ever, are not on your side.

Within a moment, Tony's twin bulges appear above the brush and begin to creep towards you through the sea of dead leaves like a rude version of Jaws. After some time, they come close enough to bump against your right foot, at which point Tony takes the initiative to hoist himself onto your calf and then ooze his way up your leg and into your lap. Such unwarranted contact is not uncommon from Tony, who relies on a hypobranchial gland to move about and whose species' ideas of personal space are much different than your own- them being non-existant- but there's usually one or more fortunate layers of clothing seperating the two of you. The feeling of slick wetness trailing up your thigh in the crisp morning air causes you to shiver involuntarily.

Tony looks you briefly up and down.

"I see you and Daphne had a good time last night." He gives you a wink, and you glare weakly at him. 'Seems I missed out on all the fun! Can't say that I can blame the girl, of course."

What the plum did he mean by that?

Tony's eyes fall on the precious stone on a stick that's poking jaggedly out of your shoulder.

"Plus you've even got the moonstone, haven't you? You are a smooth talker! Seems you had the right idea, going at this one alone."

You roll your eyes while he isn't looking. There it is again, that unprovoked fawning and flattery whose cause you can't quite pinpoint.

You notice Tony's expression change suddenly, as you feel him shifting and repositioning himself in your lap multiple times as if trying to get comfortable while sitting on a protruding object.

"Say, fella...," he grins and bears his teeth at you and squints his eyes in a way that's most likely meant to be endearing. 'That chubby you've got wouldn't happen to be for me, would it?'

You squeeze your eyes shut and wish that the ground would swallow you whole. It was only fair to expect that this part of your body had naturally hardened up like the rest of you, but your companion was no doubt sorely unaware of your predicament.

God, why couldn't you have been found by anyone else? Kirk would have at least put a rag over your face to knock you out before he had his way with you, the kinky fuck. Given the situation, you would have even preferred Dennis, who would have tried to maintain a shred of prefessionalism, even if he was sporting a barely concealed boner the entire time.  
And Naboo...

Naboo would most likely smirk and make a comment about you having nice pants and then the two of you would awkwardly refuse to say a word to eachother for the entire carpet ride home. That and the fact that you would never be able to look him in the eyes again without feeling the blood rushing horribly to your face. The worst part was that the feeling would no doubt not be mutual, seeing as the tiny shaman seemed icapable of viewing any situation as anything other than a joke. It was infuriating.

The thought of the little blue tit seeing you in this state causes you to twitch in spite of yourself. God knows you'll have to sit down and analyze the tumultuous mess of carnality and hatred that comprise your emotions regarding Naboo at some point, but why the hell does it have to be now?

Tony, unaware of your inner turmoil, mistakes the involuntary reaction as an invitation and drops onto the ground between your thighs.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes, then", he hums, before nuzzling his face against the fuzz of your inner thigh and reaching a single tentacle up to push the tight fabric of your pants over to one side. You cock, now unconfined, springs out of its cage and into the cold air. You feel a whimper rising in your throat as a result of your body's sudden contact with your frigid environment.

Taking your cries as encouragement, Tony trails an appreciative tentacle up the underside of your length, from base to tip, before lazily curling his digit around the head of your prick.

"Good God man, you're like a rock." He purrs, almost to himself, "Not that it's any surprise, of course. Few can resist the siren's call of the H-man for long!" He leers at you with glazed-over eyes, and you feel your stomach turn over in a way that should be entirely unpleasant.

"If I'm being completely honest," he continiues, "I've recently become a bit sweet on you meself."

With that, he takes the head of your cock into his mouth and your eyes roll backwards in your head.

Oh. There goes your stellar luck again. Of course *that* was the reason why Tony hadn't been trying to get on your nerves so much lately. The Pepto Bismol Ballbag had managed to convince himself he fancies you. And just in time for the eclipse! The universe, once again, managed to align itself in a way that left you bummed sillier than ever, quite literally this time.

It doesnt feel so bad, really, you admit to yourself as a groan escapes your throat and you let your eyes slide shut.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" Tony slurs, and takes the opportunity to drop a tentacle down to your bollocks, which is then followed by his mouth. You feel a hot, wet sensation engulfing your balls, one and then the other, while another tentacle snakes up to flick against your slit. Another more adventurous digit slinks down further.

Your eyes shoot as the roving tentacle discovers its target. A gasp escapes your throat.

"That's right, Sunshine", Tony trips over his words, as if drunkenly, while his mouth is momentarily unoccupied, "There's another thing you don't know about me. I'm a multitasker!"

He gazes up at you salaciously with half lidded eyes and dilated pupils.

"Bet you've never been sucked and fucked all at once by the same guy, eh?"

You had once been entangled in a bit of unfortunate business with a rather handsome albeit headless ghost after a seance you attended went wrong. You choose to bite your tongue for the moment, however, in part due to morbid curiosity, in part due to the fact that there's still a gag blocking your mouth, but also very much because you're beginning to become quite aware of a slippery foreign object nudging it's way into a rather sensitive area.

You arch your back and hear a high pitched keening sound which you assume is from some nearby bird or insect only to realize that it's coming from your own throat. At this revelation, you stop immediately.

Below you, Tony gives a small huff of protest. Two of his tentacles have come to wrap lovingly around your thighs.

"Aww, Sweetheart, don't be like that," the digit inside you gives a flick and you squirm, "I like a vocal bedfellow. I don't mind it when a handsome bloke like you sings my praises."

The probing tentacle discovers a particularly sensitive spot and curls itself against it. A muffled gasp escapes your mouth.

"That's more like it!"

Tony laughs low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations from it inside and out. The bark of the fallen tree behind you is beginning to dig into your exposed shoulder blades and the forest ground feels damp under your legs, but you can hardly pay attention to any of that right now. At this precise moment, while Tony's limbs are still at work both around your aching prick and inside you, there is something else poking slickly at the underside of your left thigh. Not a tentacle. It's heavy, and thick and hot and oddly...

Hexagonal?

Lost in thought, you realize that Tony has begun speaking to you again. It appears you might have missed the first part.

"Now, you have no need to worry, of course. There comes a time in every young man's life when he must learn to retract his barbs so as not to harm the ones he loves." Tony is leering at you as the single tentacle is drawn out of you with agonizing slowness. "Quite literally."

He laughs at his own joke, if it can be called that, seeming quite please with himself. You wonder what heat-induced slurry of chemicals are sloshing through Tony's brain at this point to make even more smug than usual. Your body betrays you for a moment, and you buck your hips as the single tentacle brushes teasingly against your entrance before pulling away from you completely. From far away, you hear yorself whining. At this point, the oddly shaped member, once pressed hotly against your thigh, has shifted to nudge up into your bollocks. Seemingly in a trance, tongue out and panting, Tony ruts up against you for a moment. His heavy lidded eyes slide shut.

"Ooh, yes...that's it..." he croons under his breath like a mantra, "Atta boy..."

Frustrated, you jerk your hips once more, hard enough to buck him off were he not latched onto your pelvis with an iron grip.

Tony snaps out of his daze and shakes his head, out of breath.

"Apologies," he pants, "Got a bit carried away there. I can hardly control myself when I get this way. Especially around this."

The tentacle around your prick tightens impossibly, and you squeak at the sudden pressure. Tony's prick, if it could be called that, has shifted to line up with your entrance, and you find yourself angling your hips up to better accommodate it.

"You're even more eager than I am, you slag! Your rosebud is gonna be six-sided for weeks once I'm done with you!"

You huff and roll your eyes before dropping your hips back down pointedly and glaring at him.

"Sorry, fella, was that too far?" He leans his head down to plant a small reconciliatory kiss on the head of your prick. "It's just dirty talk; you know I don't mean it. I was caught up in the moment."

He blinks his eyes up sweetly at you, and, by way of apology, returns his mouth to suckle gently at the head of your prick. A contented sigh drifts from your throat and you cant your hips up once more. Tony releases your prick with a wet pop, and makes a preperatory thrust at your entrance.

"Didn't know you were such a romantic, Saboo."

Tony's prick is pressing purposefully against you now, and it takes only a bit more pressure before it slides in, hot and slick and geometric.

"Figured you were more the type to have a quickie with some poor anonymous brute behind a bar and then give him a wrong number afterwards."

You know that Tony promised he wouldn't let his barbs out, but you can feel them lined like ribbing under his skin as he slides in centimeter by centimeter. Before he's in to the hilt, one of the barbs catches on that same sweet spot inside you, and you nudge the back of him slightly with your right heel to slide him in all the way.

"There's a lad," he coos lovingly, eyes cast down to monitor his handiwork.

He gives a few experimental thrusts to gauge your reaction. Your reaction, being overwhelmingly positive mewling, only serves to inflate his ego further. He begins thrusting in earnest, dragging against your prostate with each movement.

Tony is staring up at you, enamored, with his blown out pupils and a wide, inebriated grin plastered on his face.

"'Ere we go! You're absolutely lovely, you know that? God, you're lovely!"

Tony's speech gets more incoherent as he goes on, babbling unintelligible endearments more to himself than to you. The two digits wrapped around your thighs have thightened while the rythmic assault on your poor member continues, from base to tip, over and over. You realize that you've been whimpering helplessly for god knows how long, and you can't bring yourself to stop this time. A frigid wind blows through the forest, and you can feel the hairs on your chest stand on end. You writhe against your bindings as the onlaught continues, helpless against it, insistently in and out in rapid succession. Your thighs have perhaps parted a bit to allow it further. Lost in the rythm, Tony's breathing has become ragged and lewdly peppered with half-words and moans. The digit curling around the head of you prick coupled with the ministrations inside you have become almost unbearable when a single, unnocupied tentacle slinks down once nore to flick teasingly at a sweet spot on the underside of your bollocks. You arch your back and a desperate sob escapes your throat as Tony takes the head of your prick into his mouth once more and oh god that's it, it's too much, it's all too much, and suddenly you're coming in white hot jets down Tony's throat as his mouth remains wrapped around your cock all the while, rididing out the shock waves, and no matter how you gasp for air against your belt, you just can't seem to catch your breath. The spasming inside your body seems to have set Tony off as well, as he's gasping and spluttering half-formed curses and you swear you can hear some semblance of your name in the mix as the member inside you gives one final twitch before spilling out what seems like an endless flood of hot alien seed.

In an instant, your body turns to jelly against fallen tree behind you. You unconsciously attempt to clench your fists and find that you can move your arms again.

Huh.

Perhaps all the increased blood flowing about had something to do with it. Your legs, though still wobbly, have softened up to the point where you're sure you could manage to walk on them. Why hadn't you noticed that sooner?

Tony pulls out of you and retracts himself back in with a sigh and a wet, sticky pop, before releasing the tentacles wrapped around your thighs and cock and shimmying up to rest on your lap once more. Perhaps the only selfless act he's done all day, Tony tucks you back into the remnants of your ruined black pants, the friction of the smooth cloth on your thouroghly spent prick proving only slightly uncomfortable as Tony brings his cheek to rest comfortably against the fuzz on your belly.

After taking a long moment to catch your breath, you realize that Tony is making a purring sound that you hadn't known he was capable of prior to this encounter while nuzzling your lower abdomen with the side of his face. His large pink nose occasionally pokes into your navel in a way that almost makes you laugh at the whole situation. You don't, of course, because you can't help but feel much too exhausted. That, and there's still a gag blocking your mouth.

"Now bend down, will you, fella?" Tony requests softly below you, pulling you out of your hazy thoughts.

You do as Tony asks, too tired to protest, and he slides stickily up your arm and over your shoulder to perch on your back. You can hear him fumbling with the buckle and eventually you feel your belt loosen enough that it slips off the back of your head and falls wetly from your mouth. It's in worse condition than you had originally assumed, most likely as a result of all the gnashing and grinding it had undergone from your onslaught in the past half hour.

'Oh, Tony...' you sigh resignedly, 'I really do hate you."

'Oh yeah, I bet', he slurs, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes the blood rush to your face. 'Now don't you worry your pretty little head. Your secret's safe with me, Sunshine.'

He rolls down off of your back and into the brush.

"Two fantastic lays and it isn't even 9 o'clock- aren't you the lucky bastard? Now let's get you back on that carpet, shall we? I'd give you a hand, but I don't really have one."

The carpet, waiting diligently and demurely behind a tree, has since dropped to hover only a few centimeters off the ground, and Tony rolls onto it with ease.

You stagger to your feet, the bindings in your shirt now loose enough that you can almost extricate your arms, before hobbling over to join Tony on the carpet. Bad with directions or no, you decide to let him drive, at least for a while.

With the carpet in flight, you wonder for a moment if maybe Tony's enough. He seems to be the only one who cares about you in any shape or form, even if he only manages to show it in his own malformed way.

"I think I'm starting to get why Naboo's so fond of you." Tony says, still in his post-coital haze looking out over the forest below, as he decides its time to end your thoughtful silence. "Don't tell him I said that, of course. He told me that in confidence and also after overdosing on mephedrone. I think he thought he was talking to you. Or maybe to God, or Stevie Nicks. Who's to say?"

Or maybe not, you think to yourself, reconsidering your previous decision.

In reflection, you're quite sure now that Naboo would never, ever find you tied up in a forest thicket while in heat and take it as an opportunity to have his way with you. He doesn't even have the parts for it, for plum's sake. He might even make a snide comment about your pants upon finding you, but it would only be said in an attempt to distract from the fact that he was blushing so fiercely. And he wouldn't say anything on the carpet ride home because he had been the one who was left too caught off guard and overwhelmed by the experience, not the other way around. You would have maintained your iron-clad composture the entire time, you're sure of it now. Perhaps Naboo wouldn't be of much use to you dead after all...

As you finally manage to wiggle out of your bindings, you carefully pull the jeweled arrow from your shoulder and do your best to put your hopelessly wrinkled shirt back on. There are a few buttons missing. Tony falls asleep on the carpet while driving, and you wind up having to take the reigns in the end. As he sleeps, you contemplate whether or not he'd pop like a pimple if you squeeze him hard enough. He certainly looks enough like one. Just as you consider testing your theory, Tony is startled awake by the cry of a low flying harpy. For a moment, he blinks confusedly up at you and bears his teeth.

"God, what happened? Are we almost at the forest?"

Sometimes memory makes fortunate obscurations, you admit to yourself, and the Fates, though rarely, do show mercy to you at times. You roll you eyes.

"You slept through most of it, Tony. I got the rock by myself. We're going home now."

He groggily rolls until he's sitting upright.

"I can think so much clearer now without my hectocotyl sacs weighing down on my brain."

"Uch, Tony, I don't need to know anymore about your gross anatomy."

Tony eyebrows creep up inquisitively.

"Anymore?"

"I was an unfortunate witness to you getting it on with a bullfrog in the forest."

"Oh god, did I really?

"I tried to stop you, but you wouldn't have it. So don't come crying to me when you have warts all over your cock."

Tony groans despondently and buries his face in a pair of tentacles.

"Was it really that warty?"

"Oh, the wartiest. While you were randy, you said that was the best thing about it, all the extra little nodules."

"Saboo, you slag, this is all your fault! If you carried me in my papoose like I asked, this never would have happened!"

"I wouldn't want to touch you with a ten foot pole on a good day, you think I'd consent to having you strapped to my chest when you're a literal randy ballbag?"

"Mrs. H is going to think I've caught a VD! It'll look like I've been sleeping around without a rubber again and she'll never forgive me after the last two times!"

"With that mess you call a member, I doubt she'll even notice. Certainly won't be pleasant on your end, though."

"Oh, we'll have to go to couples' therapy again! We haven't gone since 2012 after we finally got back together! And everything's been going so well!"

"It sure seems like it," you mutter under your breath.

Tony seems to look at you for the first time.

"What happened to your pants?"

You look down casually before performing a sigh and examining your nails.

"I had a lesbian threesome with a wood nymph and a moon goddess. They didn't give my pants back because they didn't want me to leave."

Tony throws two tentacles up in frustration.

"It's not a lesbian threesome if one of you isn't lesbian, you dolt!"

"Same difference," you shrug, "Why, what did you think happened?"

Tony's face flushes a lurid shade of fushia and he wrinkles his nose while bringing a tentacle up to rub thoughfully against his forehead. He looks up at you with an odd vulnerability behind his eyes.

"I had hoped... what I mean to say is I had suspected-"

Smiling down at him humourlessly, you cut him off before he can finish.

"Not on your life."

You watch his expression fall before giving him a good-natured kick off the carpet, just for old time's sake. He can find his own way home, you're sure of it. Maybe he'll catch a glimpse of Daphne while she's bathing, and they'll hit it off. Or maybe not. Perhaps tomorrow you'll send her a postcard with a nice recipe for calamari as an apology for coming off as a peeping tom. In the meantime, you consider making a quick stop in East London, but then think better of it.

It would probably be best to take a shower first.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this whole thing is based on an ancient anonymous prompt (which can be found here: https://glitter-slut-x.livejournal.com/29458.html?thread=56338#t56338). If you or someone you know is responsible for this prompt, then this fic is dedicated to you, 11 years in the making.


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